


Happy at Home

by TheNightComesDown



Series: Dearest Deacon [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Babies, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Queen AU, United Kingdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 22:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18107501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: Now that John has a bit of a break between tours, you find some time to spend as a family.





	Happy at Home

**Author's Note:**

> Read through the previous sections of this series, Dearest Deacon, before reading this one! Will make more sense.

“You need to get out of the house, love,” John announced through his last mouthful of toast. “You’ve been stuck at home for weeks, and it can’t be healthy.” He brushed a few crumbs from his shirt onto his plate and stood up from the table, kissing the top of your head as he walked past you. Henry, now 8 months old, wiggled against your chest, trying to shift himself in baby wrap Mary had gifted you. Placing a hand beneath his body, you bounced him up and down in an attempt to settle him.

“I’m fine, John,” you sighed, following him with your eyes. He set his plate on the counter and turned the hot water tap on, filling the sink so he could wash the breakfast dishes. “No, no, I’ll do it,” you insisted, pushing your chair back. Your husband held up a hand, directing you to stay seated. Ignoring him, you sidled up beside him, reaching for the bottle of dish soap. 

“You did the dishes last night,” John reminded you, snatching the soap from your reach. “It won’t ruin my hands if I wash a few plates, Y/N, I promise.” You frowned, leaning against the counter beside him and watching as he squeezed a bit of soap into the stream of steaming water. John rolled his sleeves up to his elbows to keep from soaking the cuffs, revealing his pale, freckled forearms. Running a finger up his arm, you drew his attention away from the dishes. 

“Looks like you could stand to see the sun, too, darling,” you grinned, angling your face up to request a kiss from your husband. “You aren’t working today, so why don’t we go out somewhere together?” John reached towards you with his dripping hands, and you stepped, giggling as he grabbed at you. “Hey!” 

“I’d love if the three of us went out,” John murmured, drawing you against his chest. Henry cooed at the sensation of being gently pressed between the warm bodies of his parents. “Where should we go?” Taking your hands in his, John moved your hands up around his neck and slipped his thumbs into your belt loops. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, swaying to the beat of a song in his mind. Generally you felt clumsy, almost oafish in comparison to your husband when it came to dancing, but following his lead took minimal effort 

“How about a picnic?” you recommended, humming with amusement as John slipped his hands into your back pockets. He raised an eyebrow suggestively as you toyed with the waistband of his trousers. “We could wait until after Henry’s had a bit of a kip, maybe, if you had something else on your mind?” 

“There’s nothing sexier than a man who does the dishes,” you teased, planting a kiss against John’s neck, “so if you want to finish this up, I could go tuck this fella into his bassinet?” The rubber dishwashing gloves from beneath the sink were out and onto his hands faster than you could blink; with stakes such as these on the line, you trusted he would be upstairs in no time. 

* * * * * 

After enjoying some alone time, you lounged in bed, watching John rummage through his drawers, where he was attempting to find a shirt to wear on your outing. 

“You’re more particular than the rest of Queen put together, sometimes,” you smiled, suppressing a laugh as John modelled a short-sleeve button-up in front of the mirror. The pattern was loud but fashionable, and would look good tucked into a pair of denim trousers. “Why don’t you just leave it unbuttoned, show off some skin like Rog, eh?” 

“Aren’t you cheeky today?” he smirked, balling up the shirt and tossing at your head. After another minute of tossing clothes onto the bedroom floor, he found the top he had been searching for. 

“Isn’t that Roger’s—” 

“I wear it better,” John told you smugly, tugging the plain white t-shirt over his head. Because the boys were all slim, they wore similar sizes, and often exchanged clothing without remembering who had what. Your husband stepped into a pair of slim light wash trousers, and finished his look off with a pair of brown-tinted sunnies. 

“We could just stay home,” you shrugged, looking John up and down. His clothes fit him perfectly, and as he stretched his arms behind his head, his shirt rode up, revealing his midriff and the dark trail of hair below his navel. John shook his head in mock disappointment as he noticed you staring. 

“I’ve not turned out half my drawers for you to get randy and decide we’re staying home,” he frowned, setting his hands on his hips. “If we don’t get you out of this house and into the sunlight, you’ll go absolutely mad with boredom.” John marched over to the cupboard where your clothes were neatly hung up, rifling through hangers in an attempt to choose something summery. 

“Some of those are from before I had Henry,” you warned him, “so don’t be choosing anything too short. I’m a mother now, and I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” 

“Ridiculous,” he shot back, tossing a knee-length frock over his shoulder and onto the bed. “My wife can wear whatever she damn well pleases, and no one will say a thing about it, baby or no baby.” John leaned against the bedroom wall, waiting for you to try on his selection. The frock was collared and light blue, patterned with small navy bird silhouettes. It buttoned from the waist up and had a small tie at the waist, which you did in a bow on your right hip. With an approving nod, John fished through the top drawer (which was yours) and threw a pair of high-waisted white knickers towards you. 

“Thanks, love,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you stepped into your underwear. “You know how much I like wearing maternity knickers, which are uncomfortably similar to the ones my Nan wears.” 

“You’re the one who insists on being all prim and proper,” John jested, blowing you a kiss as he strutted out of the bedroom and down the hall towards Henry’s small bedroom. The boy was beginning to fuss, and had summoned his father with his whimpering. “There’s my boy!” you heard him exclaim. 

“John, could you change his nappy and put him in those red dungarees your mum bought him?” you called down the hall. “Oh, and don’t forget—” 

“The cream for his bum, I know,” John replied, poking his head out the bedroom door. “Just because I was away for the weekend doesn’t mean I forgot how to wipe a baby’s bottom, darling.” Although you knew he was annoyed, John tried his best to sound understanding. He knew you’d had a rough go of things while he was on tour earlier in the year, and he’d gone away for the weekend right when Henry came down with another ear infection. When he had returned home after a fun weekend with the boys, you were exhausted, having slept a collective 6 hours in the past 2 days. 

After adjusting the pins in your hair using the mirror in the bathroom, you padded down the hall, stopping in Henry’s doorway. John’s deft hands weren’t only good for bass solos; your son’s nappy had been changed, and John had managed to get him into a clean onesie and was just finishing the buttons of Henry’s dungarees when you walked in. 

“All clean for Mama,” John declared, holding Henry against his chest, facing forwards. You lightly squeezed the boy’s cheeks with your thumb and forefinger, which brought a bright smile to his face. His eyes, the same green-grey as his father’s, lit up when you bent down and rubbed your nose against his. 

“Who’s a handsome boy, Henry?” you asked, kissing the top of his fuzzy, blonde head. “Just like Papa, hmm?” John leaned forward to receive a kiss, which you gave enthusiastically. As promised, he had clearly not forgotten how to clean and dress a baby. 

“I swear he’s more blonde than he was when I left on Friday,” John mentioned, peering down at the boy in his arms; a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Looks a fair bit like Roger, don’t you think?” You smacked your husband’s arm playfully, eliciting a loud chuckle from him. 

“I was blonde when I was a baby, you tosser,” you reprimanded him. “Roger’s got his hands full with Dominique and whatever other girls he’s going around with, so I highly doubt he managed to father our child without either of us knowing it.” You knew John had only been joking, but after that reporter had asked after your supposed ‘relationship’ with Queen’s infamous drummer a few months back, you had been vigilant to avoid any situation that might be cause for rumours. 

“Right then, why don’t you throw together a lunch while I take Henry to the sitting room?” John asked, descending the staircase ahead of you. “This little lad looks as if he could use some tummy time.” You watched your husband with admiration as he spread a blanket out on the floor of the sitting room, where he and Henry laid on their stomachs, making silly faces at each other. John was an involved father when he was home, there was no question about that. 

After digging the wicker picnic basket out from the storage cupboard beside the front door, you packed a blanket, disposable plates and cutlery, as well as a variety of foods that were easy to prepare: sarnies, some scones and jam, sliced vegetables, etc. 

“Maybe toss the folding wagon into the car, John?” you hollered towards the sitting room as you filled two water bottles with lemonade. “I’m sure Henry would enjoy the ride.” Your son screeched with delight as his father tickled his tummy; once the giggles had died down, you heard the front door open and shut. A few minutes later, John stepped into the kitchen with Henry swaddled in the ring sling across his chest. 

“Wagon’s in the boot of the car, bag is packed with sunscreen, bug spray, nappies, and water bottles,” John confirmed. “Henry’s quite adamant that we get a move on, though.” Your baby watched you silently, his eyes following you around the kitchen as you finished packing the basket. 

“Well, if he insists,” you smiled, looping your arm through John’s, “we’d better be off.” 

* * * * * 

All the wooden tables were occupied, so you found an open patch of grass in a cool spot of shade beneath an oak tree. A walking path ran along the tree line behind you, and before you, an open field was speckled with picnic blankets and children running about, butterfly nets waving behind them. You gave your own blanket a shake, spreading it on the ground beneath the tree; the old oak’s roots jutted out of the ground in some areas, so you made a mental note to avoid sitting down on them. 

“You made _Scotch eggs_?” John gasped, staring into the Tupperware container he had just opened. “There is a god after all.” You rolled your eyes at his dramatic response; Freddie was really rubbing off on him. 

“Love, you literally had some yesterday,” you reminded him, settling in on the blanket. John kicked his shoes off and plopped down beside you, holding his hands out to receive Henry, who was squirming as you attempted to pull him out of the sling. “They’re leftover from the batch I made. Nothing special.” 

“They’re perfect picnic food,” John said decidedly. Balancing the baby on his knee, he unpacked the contents of the wicker basket: the aforementioned sandwiches and scones, containers of sliced fruit and veg, as well as hummus for dipping, and a pasta salad you’d thrown together. 

“I hope this is enough,” you frowned, looking at the spread. You’d been in a hurry to get it put together, and had felt too rushed to make what you felt was a proper meal. 

“Y/N, you could have invited the boys _and_ their ladies, and we’d still have leftovers,” he responded through a mouthful of sausage and egg. “It looks wonderful, darling.” John patted your leg reassuringly, and began bouncing Henry gently on his knee. Your son reached out for you, grabbing at your fingers and sucking on them when you moved to pick him up. 

“Looks like somebody’s hungry,” you observed, tucking Henry against your body as you started to undo the buttons of your dress. 

“Glad to see I’m not the only one enjoying your womanly charms,” John smirked, watching as you unhooked the strap of your maternity bra. 

“Hush up,” you chided, trying to hide your amusement. “These were made for him, not you.” Henry rooted at your skin as you guided him to your breast. He latched on, making funny little sniffing sounds as he tried to breathe and feed at the same time. John smiled down at the boy, stroking his little arm gently with his thumb. 

“’Scuse me, ma’am,” a middle-aged man called out from where he was seated at a picnic table, maybe 10 meters away. He scowled at you, and tried to keep his eyes on your face as he spoke. “We’re trying to enjoy our lunch here, would you mind covering that up?” John’s expression darkened, and he leaned in front of you protectively. 

“I reckon this wouldn’t be a problem if you kept your eyes to yourself, sir,” John reprimanded, glancing back at you. “My son’s trying to enjoy his lunch, too.” The man looked annoyed, but turned back to his tablemates and continued his prior conversation. 

“What an arse,” John muttered, perturbed. “As if this is what’s ruining his meal. I reckon if he removed that stick from up his bunghole, he’d be having a better afternoon.” 

“It’s not a big deal, John,” you soothed, running your hand down your husband’s back to comfort him. “Let’s just pretend it never happened, and get back to our picnic.” John nodded, but it was clear from the aggressive bite he took out of his sandwich that he was still quite annoyed. After grabbing a fork from the wicker basket, you stole bites of pasta salad from John’s plate as Henry continued to feed. 

“How’s about we take a stroll around the park and stop for that pineapple ice cream you love when we’ve finished our lunch?” John suggested, spooning more pasta onto his plate to share with you. “I’m sure we’d have enough time to do that and still get home before Henry needs to be put to bed.” You held up a finger in response, wanting to finish chewing the food in your mouth before speaking. 

“Are Roger and…whatever her name is, still coming over to watch a film with us tonight?” you wondered. John tried to nod in affirmation as he sipped his lemonade, but managed to dribble the sticky yellow drink down his chin. 

“I still can’t believe we can watch a film at home,” John marvelled, wiping at his face with the hem of his shirt. “We were really lucky to be able to bring that VCR home from Japan. I thought Roger was going to kill me when I told him how much it cost, but he still pitched in his share.” 

The Betamax had been released in Japan just after the boys had been in Tokyo on tour, and had pooled a ridiculous amount of yen to purchase the system and a single tape – the 1954 original Godzilla film. John, of course, had been the catalyst for the entire purchase, having a keen interest in electronics. The boys decided to share the system, and had high hopes that more films would be available for purchase when Betamax made its way to the UK. 

“I hope Roger’s new _friend_ likes to watch dinosaurs breathe fire and crush buildings,” you chuckled. “I may have heard through the grapevine that we’ll have access to a few new films after the summer, what with three summer birthdays.” John had strongly hinted that _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ was finally out of theatres, and had been released on Beta. As well, Brian and Roger, both born in July, had been arguing over whether or not to go dutch on a recent Bruce Lee film; instead, Brian’s girlfriend and Roger’s latest fling had pooled for it and planned on giving it to them as a shared gift. 

“You’re an angel,” John grinned, reaching out to hold your hand. “And I’m sure Dominique will be fine with it. The cinema by Roger and Brian’s flat was doing a special showing of _A Clockwork Orange_ , and she stayed with him after he took her to see that.” You shuddered, recalling your discomfort when you had gone to see it with John and his friends when it came out in ‘71. You and Freddie had sat beside each other in the theatre, and had both felt squeamish during the film. 

“That’s her name,” you snapped your fingers, “Dominique. Didn’t Roger say he met her at the hospital on the day Henry was born?” 

“Yes…I think he stayed with that redhead for a while after he met Dominique,” John recalled. “They bumped into each other again at Biba or something when Rog and Fred were visiting Mary at work, and hit it off right away, I guess.” 

“What’s she like?” 

“Haven’t paid a lot of attention, darling,” John admitted, pushing aside the containers of food so he could lay his head down in your lap. “When we’re recording, I’m usually thinking about our music or about you and Henry. Can’t usually be bothered to care about what girl Rog is shagging this week.” 

“Well you’re loads of help, aren’t you?” you teased, brushing his dark hair back from his forehead. “I’ll have to give Freddie a call when we get home if I want the details. He’s such a gossip sometimes, and I love it.” John reached up and held Henry’s pudgy little hand. The baby had fallen asleep at your breast, and you hadn’t bothered to tuck him back into the sling yet. 

“Can I tell you something?” John asked suddenly, looking up at you uncertainly. “I’ve had something on my mind.” 

“Of course, love,” you frowned. “Always.” John turned his head and kissed your leg through your dress before turning his attention back to your face. 

“I’ve been feeling a bit lonely around the boys, lately,” he confided. “It’s not that I don’t love being with them and all, but things are different now.” 

“Now that…?” you prodded, waiting expectantly for him to elaborate. 

“Now that I’m a father,” John finished hesitantly. “Which I love, of course. It’s the best thing in the world, next to being married to you. But the boys are all still messing around, figuring relationships out and such, and I feel like I’ve left them behind in a way.” You stroked his hair, running your nails along his scalp the way he liked. Your husband looked almost sheepish after his admission, as if he thought you would be angry with him for some reason. 

“I can understand that.” 

“You can?” 

“Of course, John,” you assured him. “What did you think I’d say?” In your arms, Henry inhaled deeply, his breath catching in his throat in a sort of snort. John’s lips set themselves into a crooked smile at the sound. 

“I guess I was worried that you would think I had regrets,” he shrugged, “but I don’t. I have never wished, even for a moment, for our life to be different than it is.” 

“I know that,” you murmured, brushing your thumb along the curve of his cheekbone. “Even though this little guy came as a surprise to us, I wouldn’t change a thing if I had the chance to do it all over.” John rested his face against Henry’s soft corduroy dungarees, closing his eyes for a few moments. 

Behind you, a couple was walking their English mastiff along the dirt footpath. The dog caught sight of a squirrel as it skittered up the trunk of a nearby tree, and let out a deafening bark. Henry jolted awake, his little face wrinkling as he prepared to cry. John sat bolt upright, looking to see where the sound had come from. 

“Sorry!” the man holding the dog’s leash cried, waving awkwardly in apology. “Didn’t mean to scare your baby.” You waved back, dismissing their concerns; it had been an accident. 

“Maybe this is a sign that we should pack up and head for the ice cream shop,” John speculated, glancing at his wristwatch. “By the time we make it there, get back to the car, and drive back home, we’ll only have an hour or so before Rog and Dominique are due to arrive.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, using John’s shoulder to steady yourself as you stood up. Henry continued to wail as you tucked him into the cloth sling, spitting out the dummy you’d popped into his mouth in an attempt to soothe his cries. 

“Maybe some ice cream will settle him down?” John questioned, grimacing as heads began to swivel in your direction. “I saw a new tooth coming through his gums this morning when I peeked into his mouth, so that might be making this worse.” The man at the picnic bench who had commented on your decision to breastfeed uncovered was glaring at you, silently willing you to quiet the baby. 

“Even your dad’s sneezes don’t make him scream bloody murder like this,” you commented, sticking the tip of your index finger into Henry’s mouth. John attended to the buttons of your dress, which you hadn’t had a chance to do up yet, while you bounced up and down in an attempt to soothe your son. Henry latched onto your finger, biting down and mashing his tiny pink gums against it. 

“Don’t let him hurt you again,” John warned, remembering the incident where Henry’s front teeth had pierced through the skin of your hand. It had bled profusely, and on top of that, the baby had continued to screech for nearly 10 minutes until John located a teething ring and popped it into his mouth. 

John quickly packed up the food and returned it to the wicker basket. Instead of folding the blanket the way it had come, he crumpled it into a ball and shoved it on top of the Tupperware containers, not caring that the basket could no longer close. 

“Hush now, love,” you whispered, patting Henry’s back through the cloth of your sling. “Mama and Papa are here. It was just a puppy barking, you’re okay.” John slung an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“Ready to go?” he asked. 

“If we don’t leave now, someone’s bound to call social services.” 

* * * * * 

“Budge up, mate,” Roger complained, lightly smacking John’s leg with his hand. “Dominique and Y/N are making dinner, and I’ve been told that I’m not allowed in the kitchen.” John was stretched out on the sofa with his eyes closed, and Henry was asleep on his chest. 

“Can’t move,” John yawned, squinting up at his friend. “Baby’s asleep, and I don’t want him to wake up.” Roger huffed indignantly, but seated himself on the floor in front of the sofa, leaning his head back against John’s arm. 

“How is it, being home again?” Roger wondered, closing his eyes. If John was going to rest while the women went about making supper, he might as well settle in as well. 

“Tiring, but in a good sort of way,” John replied. “You?” 

“S’alright,” Roger shrugged. “Dom’s been staying over most nights, so it’s nice to have someone to wake up beside.” 

“It is, innit?” John smiled. “Nice to wake up beside the same woman, too, especially if you don’t mind her company.” Roger nodded; he hadn’t really had serious girlfriends before, as John was well aware. 

“John, how did you…” Roger paused, trying to decide how to phrase his question. “How’d you know Y/N was the one for you?” 

“Well, ehm…” John hummed, “I s’ppose it was when I started thinking about my future. Every option I thought about included her.” 

“And when did you know you loved her?” 

“We’d been together a month or two,” John guessed, trying to recall the moment. “I was watching her wash dishes or cut vegetables in the kitchen, something mundane like that, and I just knew it when I looked at her.” 

“What does that even mean, you _just know_?” Roger scoffed. “Brian said that about Chrissie, too, and Freddie about Mary.” He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. No one was giving him any helpful answers. 

“Haven’t you ever been in love before, Rog?” John asked softly. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and was surprised when it wasn’t shrugged off. They could hear Y/N and Dominique chattering away in the kitchen, discussing the recording process or something. 

“I don’t know that I have,” Roger admitted. “Lust I know all about, but love? The romantic kind at least, I don’t know much about.” 

“But friends, family?” John inquired. “Surely you can tell that you love those people.” 

“My parents and my sister, of course,” Roger nodded. “I don’t know how I couldn’t. And Brian, you, and Freddie, too; if we didn’t all love each other, we’d have murdered one another years ago.” 

“That’s a good start,” John encouraged. “Anyone else?” 

“The girls,” Roger said, the collective name the band used for their long-time partners. “Y/N and I didn’t get along at first, I’m sure you recall, but she grew on me.” John chuckled, recalling the shouting matches you and Roger had gotten into over silly things such as where to have dinner, or what to watch on the telly. 

“So how do you know that you love someone like Y/N as a friend, but not more?” John asked, trying to steer Roger towards the understanding of his feelings. For an intelligent man with a B.Sc. and advanced music knowledge, Roger really could be daft sometimes. 

“Oh, come off it, John,” Roger exclaimed, “I don’t know how to explain it, that’s why I’ve asked you in the first place.” John gave his friend’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’ll give it a go,” John offered. “I think Mary is wonderful. She’s kind and funny and loyal, and I know I can count on her to be here for Y/N when I’m not the right person to talk to. And she’s beautiful, there’s no denying that.” He stopped, pressing his lips together as he considered his next words. “I enjoy being around Mary, and she makes Freddie a better man. I’d say I love her as a friend. But when I thought about my future, before I knew Y/N, that is, I never imagined Mary as someone I could spend my life with. She never understood me, knew me the way Y/N does.” 

“So you can love someone, but not be _in_ love with them,” Roger deduced. “You need to be compatible, romantically that is, but also want to know them as a person, and like the person they are.” John gave him a minute to think through his feelings about Dominique before pressing him. 

“So?” 

“So when I think about the future, what I want from my life,” Roger started, “I see myself continuing to tour with Queen. We’re making and selling records, and selling out every show.” 

“And when you go home, in this future?” 

“When I go home, she’s there,” Roger confirmed, sure of his words. “I can imagine waking up beside her, having a little chap like Henry with her.” John clapped him gently on the back, so as not to jostle the baby asleep on his chest. 

“Now that’s the foundation of it all,” John told him. “The rest of it is this: if you love someone, you want to do whatever you can to make their life better. Whether that’s making them breakfast, or holding them when they’re sad, or giving them space when they ask for it. Love isn’t selfish, and it’s not about what they can do for you; it’s about wanting to give them what they need.” Before Roger could reply, you and Dominique entered the sitting room, plates and cutlery in hand. 

“What are we chatting about, gents?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. Roger was leaned against the sofa, his head resting against John’s hip, and John’s hand was settled on his friend’s shoulder. The boys had always been close, but it was clear to you that they had been having a moment. 

“How bloody hungry we are,” Roger moaned, drawing a laugh from John that appeared to wake Henry. The baby didn’t cry as he had earlier in the day, but instead, began to make small whimpering sounds. 

“Now you’ve done it, Rog,” you sighed, leaning your head back in mock frustration. “We’re about to have the dog incident all over again.” 

“Oh, he didn’t mean to,” Dominique interjected gently, passing you the handful of cutlery she was holding. “Let’s have a peek at this little one.” John allowed her to scoop Henry up off his chest and into her arms, where she held the boy with great care. 

“Such a sweet boy, little Henri,” she cooed, pronouncing his name in her French accent. “You look just like your papa.” Henry opened his mouth in a curious “O”, and his eyes focused on Dominique’s smiling face. He reached out and grabbed at her fringe, catching a handful of black hair in his little fist. 

“Careful now,” Roger said, standing up. “Uncle Rog wants you to be gentle, Henry.” He rubbed the back of your son’s hand with the pad of his thumb, encouraging him to release the hold he had on her hair. 

“It’s alright, Roger,” she assured him, popping a kiss on Henry’s rosy cheek. “I’ve held lots of babies, so I don’t mind.” She bounced the boy in her arms, making silly faces at him as Roger watched from the arm of the sofa, where he had perched himself beside John. 

“If anyone’s hungry, we made spaghetti bolognese,” you announced, holding up the plates and cutlery. “Henry can go in the highchair, I’ll cut up some pasta for him.” You set the plates and cutlery on the dining table, and headed back to the kitchen to bring out the food. 

“No, I’ll get it,” John called after you, springing up from the couch. “You and Dominique made supper, I’m certain Rog and I can handle putting it on the table and cutting up noodles for an 8-month-old.” John gave you a quick kiss on his way to the kitchen, which you returned gratefully. 

“D’you think Henry will like Godzilla?” Roger asked, putting an arm around Dominique and tickling Henry’s cheek. You observed the two of them together, noticing the way Roger’s eyes twinkled when he looked at her. While you were preparing supper, she had mentioned that she hadn’t expected things with the blonde, sometimes-clueless drummer to progress this far. What had started off as just a fling was clearly shaping up to be something that could become serious. 

“Careful Rog,” you teased as he leaned in and kissed Dominique’s cheek, “too much of that and you two might find yourselves with a little nipper of your own.” His face flushed red at the suggestion, but Dominique let out a tinkling laugh in response. 

“You never know,” she shrugged, throwing you a knowing look. “Maybe one day we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out my tumblr at deacy-dearest.tumblr.com.


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